Tag Archives: Suicide

TODAY IS NOT THE DAY

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15. CRY

  • Tears are a natural cleansing and healing mechanism. It’s OK to cry. In fact, it’s good to cry when you feel like it. What’s more, tears are a form of mourning. They are sacred! 

CARPE DIEM:  If you feel like it, have a good cry today. Find a safe place to embrace your pain and cry as long and as hard as you want to.  (HEALING A PARENT’S GRIEVING HEART: 100 PRACTICAL IDEAS AFTER YOUR CHILD DIES, Alan D. Wolfelt, PhD, 2005)

I don’t feel like it today. I’m okay. I’m a little tired. Just enjoying being in the house on this cold, damp, dreary day. Doing laundry and a little cleaning. Mostly reading. Some meditating. I’m aware that my heart is healing. It’s only taken eleven plus years. 

The night I found my son, I don’t know if I cried. I remember screaming. My heart, my soul, my very self, split in two. It is only now that I feel some mending happening. I’m coming back to myself, acknowledging that my son is indeed dead and gone. My son. The child I raised. The boy who felt things so strongly. I described him as wearing his nerves, as a child, on the outside of his body. My beautiful boy.

Wednesday was the first anniversary of the death of my mother. Not by suicide, like my son. I do believe she gave up though. She was 87 and a half. She’d survived all the members of her family, except for some in-laws, as well as the loss of her best friend. The last loss, the final straw, was her younger sister. Until the last few days, she continued to be active in her assisted living community. Then she was having difficulty breathing, her pulse-ox was very low, but she wouldn’t keep the oxygen on. 

When my sister called to say she was gone, I was shocked. We’d just gotten her on to hospice services because she was refusing to go to the hospital and she needed more care than the facility could provide for her. I told her it didn’t mean she was going to die, that some people graduate from hospice. (I’d worked as a hospice social worker.) Apparently, she decided otherwise.

I had a Mass celebrated for her yesterday at my parish church. Before Mass, I thought about telling the priest the correct pronunciation of her name, but he was running late and I decided not to interrupt him as he got ready. He mispronounced it. Many people do. Obviously not an English major. A vowel followed by double consonants carries the short sound, no? He said it with the long sound. 

I reposted her eulogy, photos, and stories. I felt guilty when I saw my sister posted, “we miss you”. I don’t miss her. Not really. She wasn’t the easiest person to be around. All my life her anxiety took first priority. I remember, even as a child, trying to manage her anxiety. Once, she left the window by the stove open after she hung out some laundry (NY apartment living). The curtain blew into the flame and caught fire. The flame blew across the window shade and it dropped. I called her, in a monotone, “Mo-om, the curtains are on fire.”  I was maybe 10 years old.

I visited her grave yesterday. Afterward, I went to my sister’s. We went out to lunch and then spent time together at her apartment. I got to see my niece too. It was a lovely visit. We are really just getting to know each other. Enjoy each other. 

We agreed that, growing up, we were just a bunch of people living in the same house. Mom was a switchboard operator when I was young, later a receptionist. She operated that way in life as well. She talked about each of us, her four kids, to each of us. In a way, it kept us separate. I remember, having started communicating directly with my sister. Mom told me something about her; and, when I said I already knew, she was surprised…like how dare I already know that. So…looking back, I think it was intentional. Sad to say.

I always knew anxiety was an issue for her. She started taking Valium, Mother’s Little Helper, in the “60s and continued through old age. Later she had Xanax. She didn’t drink a lot, but she’d hobble to the liquor store down the block from her Senior apartment. She spent some time in 12 Step meetings, Al-Anon Adult Children, and talked about getting the best therapy for $1 (donation).

Everybody loved her. Well, there were a few that told my poor sister she was a saint for dealing with her. She had the major care-taking duties. 

On the anniversary, my daughter, granddaughter and I went out to an Irish pub for dinner. Mom loved all things Irish. We would sometimes take her out to an Irish pub, where she would order a quesadilla. I’m not kidding. 

Now she’s with my son. I hope they’re enjoying each other’s company. 

I GIVE MYSELF GRACE

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14. KNOW THAT GRIEF DOES NOT PROCEED IN ORDERLY, PREDICTABLE “STAGES”.

Be compassionate with yourself as you experience your own unique grief journey (HEALING A PARENT’S GRIEVING HEART: 100 PRACTICAL IDEAS AFTER YOUR CHILD DIES, Alan D Wolfelt, PhD, 2005)

I have finally, after 11+ years, arrived at a place where I can give myself some grace. I no longer feel the need to punish myself for my son’s death. I write this with some trepidation, although I note that I did not write “I no longer blame myself or feel guilt”.

I have finally arrived at the place where I can truly mourn his death. The horror of finding him is less obtrusive. It no longer blunts the grief as much. 

I visited his grave the other day. I straightened the angel on the decorated Christmas tree someone left there…likely his dad or sister. They also left a panda ornament hanging on the headstone, one of his favorite animals. It was bitter sweet. I believe I said, “Hey Brat,” as I looked at his photo embedded in the stone. I didn’t stay long, but it was different from other visits. I was present. I remained in my body.

I think having both of my daughters and my grandchildren with me on Christmas Eve helped to bring along this softening. I feel more at peace. I am ending this year on a more self-compassionate note.

I AM SUPPORTED BY OTHERS

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UNDERSTAND THE SIX NEEDS OF MOURNING

Need #6: Receive ongoing support from others.

  • Grief is experienced in “doses” over years, not quickly and efficiently, and you will need the continued support of your friends and family for weeks, months and years.  (Alan D. Wolfelt, PH.D., HEALING A PARENT’S GRIEVING HEART: 100 PRACTICAL IDEAS AFTER YOUR CHILD DIES, 2005)

It’s been more than eleven years, and yes, I need continued support. I “accidentally” found my Survivors of Suicide group one evening, when I walked into my local county library branch and saw a hand-written sign that said “SOS”. The facilitator of the group, now my friend, likes to say it was the Holy Spirit that brought me in. I can’t disagree. At the very least, it was a “wink” from God or the Universe.

This group meets monthly in person and via Zoom, but also socially from time to time. It’s a group none of us would have chosen to join, but we find ease and comfort in each others’ presence as we share losses that are difficult for others, who have not, to understand.

Some of us recently attended the International Survivors of Suicide Loss Day program hosted by our state’s Traumatic Loss Coalition (TLC), sponsored by the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention (AFSP). Events are held annually on the Saturday before Thanksgiving. Our event included the showing of a video of interviews with survivors of suicide loss, updating their journey; a panel discussion with survivors on how their journey has been and continues; a lunch; and, breakout groups. I co-facilitated the mothers group with another mom. We’ve done this together several times now. This event is the only time we see each other, but we are closely tied together and share a warm hug when we meet.

A bunch of us from the SOS group travelled together to Survivor Day and socialized afterward at our driver’s house. His wife didn’t attend, but she cooked for us, and we all brought something to share. Others came only to the social gathering. It was good to be with them all. There is a love there that knows no bounds and I am forever grateful for the “accident” that brought me to them.

THERE IS NO MEANING

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12. UNDERSTAND THE SIX NEEDS OF MOURNING

Need #5: Search for meaning

  • “Why?” questions may surface uncontrollably and often precede “How?” questions. “Why did this happen?” comes before “How will I go on living?”

CARPE DIEM:

Write down a list of “why” questions that have surfaced for you since the death. Find a friend or counselor who will explore these questions with you without thinking she has to give you answers. ( HEALING A PARENT’S GRIEVING HEART: 100 PRACTICAL IDEAS AFTER YOUR CHILD DIES, Alan D Wolfelt, PH.D., 2005)

I didn’t ask why then; and, I don’t ask why now. I believed I knew. I believed and continue to believe it was my fault. Oh, there’s a part of me that gives him the dignity of making his own choice, but if I hadn’t told him that day that he had to move out…If I hadn’t told him, “My heart is broken”…he would still be here.

I didn’t and don’t blame God. As a matter of fact, in a spiritual direction session, I asked Jesus where he was when Joseph died. He told me he was here with him. I saw Joseph walk right into his arms and say to Jesus, “You ARE real!” 

For that I am grateful. 

The “Why?”s I do have include: 

“Why did God give me not one but THREE mentally ill children?” 

“What was he thinking?” 

I thought I did a good job raising them. No, I didn’t. I struggled and judged myself. But I worked so hard at it. I STUDIED to be a mother. I didn’t feel I had any “mother’s intuition”. I had NO IDEA how to be a parent. I read and reread the Gesell books with each of my four children, Birth to One Year, Your One Year Old, Your Two Year Old, etc…Between Parent and Teenager. I read Parent Effectiveness Training. I took trainings. I reached out for all the help I could get. 

I thought I was doing them a favor by letting them be who they were. Now I wonder. Nah. I still believe letting our children be who they are is best…a gift.

I remember, when they were young, thinking “I don’t know what I would do if I had special needs children.” Well, most of them were, are, special needs. It just all seemed normal to me having grown up in my family. 

Joseph had made multiple suicide attempts before he died. I believe my comment, “My heart is broken,” after discovering he had been using again, released him. Maybe he held on so long because he knew I couldn’t handle it if he died. Maybe that comment made him think I’d be better off without him. Who knows?

I AM STILL JOSEPH’S MOTHER

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11. UNDERSTAND THE SIX NEEDS OF MOURNING

Need #4: Develop a new self-identity

  • You have gone from being a parent to a “bereaved parent”. You thought of yourself, at least in part, as your child’s mother or father. Even if you have other children, this perception of yourself has changed. If the child who died was your only child, you may wonder whether you are still a parent at all.

CARPE DIEM:

Write out a response to this prompt:  I used to be . Now that

died, I am . This makes me feel . Keep writing as long as you want.

I didn’t “used to be” anything. I am still Joseph’s mother. For a time after his death, eleven years ago, I may have filled in this blank differently. No. No, I wouldn’t. Likely, I wouldn’t have filled it in at all. I couldn’t. It was too raw.

I remember, shortly after his death, sitting in my therapist’s office and asking him, “What do I say when someone asks me how many children I have?” I am past that now. I answer, “Four”. I gave birth to four children, regardless of how many still inhabit this earth. When I am asked their ages, I respond differently depending on who is asking, and why. Sometimes the conversation is easy. Someone is genuinely interested; and, I will respond fully, saying Joseph died. If they ask how, I tell them.

I find that, sometimes, when I share that he died by suicide, people have experienced their own suicide losses. Sadly, it is not all that uncommon.

TODAY, I REMEMBER THAT HE LIVED

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11. UNDERSTAND THE SIX NEEDS OF MOURNING

Need #3: Remember the person who died.

  • To heal, parents need to actively remember the child who died and commemorate the life that was lived. (Alan D. Wolfelt, PhD, HEALING A PARENT’S GRIEVING HEART: 100 PRACTICAL IDEAS AFTER YOUR CHILD DIES, 2005)

Thursday, October 16, was Joseph’s birthday. He would have turned 34 years old. 

Joseph liked to bake blondies, butterscotch brownies. I still wear a white zippered hoodie that belonged to him, when it is chilly in the house. I still have a signed cast from one time he broke a bone in his hand. He did that a few times…punching the floor, punching a wall…and hitting a beam, punching a heavy sandbag.

I still call his bedroom “Joseph’s room”, except for the few times my grandchildren (actual and “adopted”) lived in it. I still make the bed with his comforter. I just switched it up from the blue one he used as an adult to the Harry Potter one he used as a kid. He introduced me to Harry Potter. I still have books Three through Seven. We had taken the first and second ones out of the library, so I don’t own those; although, I keep looking at used book sales hoping to pick them up. I own all of the movies related to those books – some on VHS, some on DVD. I have done a marathon, watching them when I was home sick. I bought an old TV with a built-in VHS player at Goodwill for $8.99. I have other movies and shows on VHS as well.

As I write this, I am looking at school photos of all of my kids that are hanging in my living room. For the eldest, there is a photo of her shaking hands with the Dean at her college graduation. For the middle two, there are high school graduation photos; although, they have both also graduated from community college. Number three will graduate with her Bachelors next spring; and, her daughter will graduate from high school. For Joseph there is a photo from his junior year in high school. He didn’t graduate. I was tired of going to high school, for my kids. At the end of his junior year, Joseph didn’t have enough credits to move on to his senior year. I signed him out. I was done. He aced the test for his GED. He was extremely bright. That wasn’t the problem. Last year, for the tenth anniversary of his death, I reached out to the community college he had been attending. Although he hadn’t graduated, he had enough credits to do so. I was able to reach someone who followed up for me and the college issued an honorary Associates degree for him.

One summer, as a kid, he attended a computer camp at the community college. When I went to pick him up one day, the teacher came up to me and told me that he had been teaching the kids how to program their computers to play a musical scale. Joseph wrote a program to play Beethoven’s “Ode to Joy”. 

Joseph liked cinnamon-dusted apple cider donuts from Delicious Orchards, a farm market in our area. One time, when he was living with his sister, I picked some up and dropped them off for him. I don’t go there often, but when I do, I still want to pick them up for him. 

EMBRACING THE PAIN

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9. UNDERSTAND THE SIX NEEDS OF MOURNING

Need #2: Embrace the pain of the loss

  • This need requires mourners to embrace the pain of their loss – something we naturally don’t want to do. It is easier to avoid, repress or push away the pain of grief than it is to confront it. (Alan D. Wolfelt, PhD, HEALING A PARENT’S GRIEVING HEART: 100 PRACTICAL IDEAS AFTER YOUR CHILD DIES, 2005)

I am suddenly struck by how ludicrous the second part of the title of the above-referenced book is…”Practical Ideas After Your Child Dies”??? Seriously? What is practical after your child dies? I cast no aspersions against Dr. Wolfelt here. I heard him speak. He is full of compassion. I am keenly aware that being struck this way, in this moment, is more likely avoidance on my part. Not that I haven’t and don’t continue to embrace the pain of the loss of my son. It’s just that suddenly, I am being bombarded with multiple memories of how I have and have not dealt with the pain of losing him. 

At first, I was cleaved in two, like a sword split me open. I was all raw emotion, crying endlessly. There was no solemnity in my grief at his wake. I cried throughout, falling into the arms of whoever came up to me to share their condolences. Well, except for two people that I can think of. One who actually came up to me and asked, “What happened?”, which was beyond my capacity to respond to at the time. The other was someone with whom I had worked. Someone who used my name to get the job even though we had met only once, briefly. Someone who treated our staff like pawns on a chess board, moving them around at her will. Someone through whom I ultimately left said job. When I saw her, I was in the arms of a former professor. I said to her, “I can’t believe that bitch had the nerve to show up here”, or something to that effect. She suggested I greet the woman and come back to her. I stiffly reached out a hand to shake, listened to some platitudes, and again hugged my professor. I am so grateful to her for that. And the tears resumed.

At the funeral Mass, I cried constantly, falling to my knees and sobbing out loud at one point.

I had a hard time going back to work. Then I embraced positions in suicide prevention like I could stop it from ever happening again. No one was ever going to die by suicide on my watch. 

The first time I walked in an AFSP Out of the Darkness Walk, I dissociated and separated from my family group, walking in the other direction. I don’t know if they realized I was missing. Before the walk started, we had each held a balloon upon which we had written our loved one’s name. Then we let them go. I held on to mine for a long time. I couldn’t let it…him…go. I was overwhelmed by the sheer number of attendees. All of those people who had lost someone to suicide. 

I participated in another walk years later. A friend walked with me. My daughter, who volunteers with AFSP, introduced me to another griever who walked with us. She, too, has become a friend. This year I walked with her and a few other folks from my Survivors of Suicide group. As I write this, I realize I missed our monthly meeting last night. It completely slipped my mind. There’s a social gathering of the group this weekend. I may go to that.

So…embracing the pain…yeah…I do that…involuntarily. It sneaks up on me.

FIRST NEED OF MOURNING

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8. UNDERSTAND THE SIX NEEDS OF MOURNING

Need #1: Acknowledge the reality of the death.

  • Your child has died. This is probably the most difficult reality in the world to accept. Yet gently, slowly and patiently you must embrace this reality, bit by bit, day by day. (Alan D. Wolfelt, PhD, HEALING A PARENT’S GRIEVING HEART: 100 PRACTICAL IDEAS AFTER YOUR CHILD DIES, 2005)

Eleven years later and there is still a part of me that does not acknowledge that Joseph, my son, is dead. Even though I found him. Even though I…as instructed by the 911 operator I finally reached after multiple attempts…cut down his cold stiff body and futilely administered CPR. A part of me still does not believe he is dead. 

A shift occurred inside of me at that moment. When I walked through the front door and saw him, I screamed and screamed. I dropped whatever I was holding. I went looking for my home phone, pacing around. Some part of me knew that when I called 911 it needed to be from my landline, so they knew where the call was coming from. I dialed and got no answer, twice. The third time someone finally answered. 

That shift? This is not Joseph. That shell? No, that was not Joseph. That whistling sound coming through his locked teeth as I administered compressions? That was not coming from my boy. My boy was gone. His spirit had flown away and this empty shell was not him.

My boy. Yes, he was 22 years old, but he will always be my boy. My boy. My brilliant, beautiful, stinky boy. My boy, who gave the best, tightest hugs. My boy, with a delightful sense of humor. Once, when he came home from a day at a partial care program, he asked me how I would describe him in one word. I immediately said, “Delightful”. He said, “Really?” How did he not know? How did he not know how much I delighted in his being? How did I not communicate that to him? 

We did not talk much. He had returned to my home after living with his sister, rehab stays, including out of state, and hospitalizations. He had been discharged from a residential program because he was not attending school as required. They dropped him off at a Dunkin Donuts until the shelter he was scheduled to go to opened. He spent the night in the shelter, awake, due to his ongoing anxiety issues, which was why he was not making it to school. He showed up at my door the next night, smelling like alcohol. I had been asleep. Of course, I let him in. He lay down on top of the covers next to me. I tossed a throw blanket over him. A year went by. He spent most of his time in his room on his computer, which he built himself. As I said, he was brilliant.

We went out to eat one night that last week. Again, neither of us said much. Looking back, he seemed subdued, but so was I. 

Then I found he was using DXM again; and, I told him he could no longer stay. Well, he did not stay. DAMMIT! 

He is gone. My beautiful, delightful, stinky boy. Buried in the cold ground.

It was him. 

COMPASSION FOR MY CHILDREN

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7. BE COMPASSIONATE WITH YOUR SURVIVING CHILDREN

  • Grieving siblings are often “forgotten mourners”. This means that their parents and family as well as friends and society tend to overlook their ongoing grief or attempt to soothe it away.

CARPE DIEM: 

Hold a family meeting and talk to your children about their feelings since the death. Even if the death wasn’t recent, you may uncover lingering resentments, fears and regrets. Expressing these feelings may help bring your family closer together. (Alan D. Wolfelt, PhD, HEALING A PARENTS’S GRIEVING HEART: 100 PRACTICAL IDEAS AFTER YOUR CHILD DIES, 2005)

Sadly, it was a long time before I could look around and see how Joseph’s death affected my children. My youngest daughter is actively involved with the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention (https://afsp.org/). She is on the Board in our state and is their Social Media Ambassador, with a team of volunteers. She is very open, publicly, about how her brother’s death affected her. On the anniversary of his death, for the past few years, she, her daughter, and I have been going to the beach to watch the sun rise. Afterward, we go to breakfast. One year we threw flowers into the ocean. Another, shells marked with the names of others’ lost loved ones, from an Out of the Darkness Walk (https://afspwalks.donordrive.com/OOTDWalks). We talk about Joseph a lot, but I can’t say that we talk about our feelings. Our relationship has had its ups and downs. She was able to share with me some of the resentments she had toward me that had nothing to do with Joseph. I was able to apologize. Our relationship has gotten better. There is still room for improvement.

My eldest daughter has her own mental health struggles and carries a lot of resentment toward me. We have not had a conversation about it. She has levelled some pretty nasty words toward me. In the hospital emergency room last year, she told me to leave the room when the screener asked her if she would be admitted voluntarily. She then asked her husband to have me come back in and said to me, “My mother is fucking up my life again.” When she came home and I tried to explain to her how, by having the hospital staff give her the contract I drew up for her return to my home, my intention was to tell them she was homeless if she would not agree. Before I could finish my explanation, which was that the hospital would then have to find her an appropriate supportive place to stay, she looked me dead in the eye and said, with venom, “The last time you told someone they were homeless, they killed themselves. Is that what you want?”

When I later recounted this experience to her sister, she looked at me, shrugged and nodded. I remember her saying, “Well, yeah”, but that may just have been my impression from the nod and the shrug.

My other son, well, he has not spoken to me in ten years. Our last conversation was on Mother’s Day 2015, the year after Joseph’s death. I was having a tough day. I had not heard from any of my children, so when he called, I was crying. Trying to hide that fact from him, when he said, “Happy Mother’s Day…ok, gotta go”…or something like that, I said, “Okay”. He sounded surprised; and, we did hang up. If I remember correctly, I then went to the cemetery, where I found my younger daughter and granddaughter. I walked to the grave, crying, and my daughter hugged me. (I could be confusing this day with another…) 

I saw my son sometime after that at my granddaughter’s First Holy Communion. I may have put my hand on his shoulder as I passed him in the pew on my way to receive communion myself. At the end of the Mass, he was gone. The family went out to eat, but I went home. It was just too difficult.

My mother passed away in January, and I saw him at the wake and funeral. I met his girlfriend for the first time and gave her a hug. I said, “Hello, Son” to him. He looked like a deer in the headlights, eyes shifting back and forth. I just walked away, giving him space. I saw him again the next day, at the funeral. I gave him an icon I bought for him in Fatima, Portugal, and had blessed by the Archbishop for the Military. Again, I walked away. We did not sit together at the repast, but he stood with my younger daughter, granddaughter and me for a photo his girlfriend took. She sent me a copy. I am grateful.

So…sitting down for a family meeting with my children for a discussion of our feelings about Joseph’s death, or about anything, is out of the question for now. Maybe someday.

BE COMPASSIONATE WITH OTHERS

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6. BE COMPASSIONATE WITH YOUR SPOUSE

  • Someone else is grieving this death as deeply as you are. Unless you are widowed or a single parent, the child’s other parent is also mired in grief. Be as compassionate and nonjudgmental as you can be about your partner’s reactions to the death. Give each other permission to mourn differently. (Alan D. Wolfelt, PhD, HEALING A PARENT’S GRIEVING HEART: 100 PRACTICAL IDEAS AFTER YOUR CHILD DIES, 2005)

I was tempted to skip this activity as I do not have a spouse, nor did I have one at the time of my son’s death; but, there are things I can explore here. The night my son died, I called his father and his siblings. I left messages for his dad and one sister to call me back. I reached one sister, who asked how he died and hung up when I told her. I reached his brother, who called me back a couple of times to check on me. I called a neighbor, looking for some kind of support, someplace to go, and left a message there too. I called my parish priest, who told me the funeral home would get in touch with them to make arrangements…no offer to come to my home, which was what I was hoping for, I guess. I was unable to ask for it. Granted it was midnight, but still…I called my dearest friend, Elizabeth, who lived in Maine, and she said she would head down in the morning. Finally, I reached out to my ex-boyfriend, John, who was at his job as a police dispatcher, an hour away. He dropped everything and came to the house. The police asked if I wanted them to get me when he arrived, so I could leave. I did not want to leave until Joseph’s body was gone. Elizabeth called back and said she was on her way. She could not sleep.

Once all the police activity was over and the body removed, John took me to his apartment, where I spent the night. I did not think I would ever be able to return to my house. The next morning, my younger daughter called me. She had gotten the news from her siblings, I guess. John and I went to her apartment. I was expecting my kids, my ex-husband and all of his family, especially his mother, to blame me. After all, I blamed myself. When we arrived at my daughter’s apartment, she took me by the hands, looked me in the eyes and said, “It’s not your fault; and, you’re going to need a lot of therapy.” My ex-husband came over and he was gracious to me as well. I felt some relief. 

Finally, I was ready to go home. When John and I arrived at the house, Elizabeth was waiting in the driveway. That is the way our friendship was. (Side note:  Once we met in Massachusetts; she drove from Maine, I from New Jersey. She pulled into the hotel drive right behind me.) She stayed for a few days, while we got through the arrangements. My sister came and stayed with me for a few days after that. John stuck by me throughout; and, we rekindled our relationship for a time. I crashed and burned almost three years later for a period of about nine months (gestational correlation?). Our relationship did not survive. He and I did not talk about grief. I do not really know how he was impacted. When I would have periods of wailing, weeping and moaning, it made him uncomfortable. I remember once, after watching “The Passion” and identifying with Mary’s loss of her Son, kneeling on the floor on the spot where I had laid Joseph’s body, wailing. He left the room. That is not to say that there were not times that he did, indeed, comfort me. Sadly, I was completely oblivious to how Joseph’s loss affected him.

I was in shock, traumatized. I think I am finally coming out of the shock, more than eleven years later, which is why I am willing to do this work now.